Corduroys and Machine Guns
by Alsike
Summary: Sam and Brooke haven't spoken for three years, but Brooke is finally graduating from college, and that is about to change. At least if porcupines and terrorists have anything to say about it, it will. Femslash.
1. Chapter 1

"I can't believe Harrison's dating Mary Cherry!" Sam's voice over the line was laughing if faint and Lily smiled in response.

"I don't think it's by choice. She just sort of showed up at his door before Josh and my Anniversary party and hasn't let him alone since."

"Oh, yeah. The party… Look, Lily, I'm sorry I-"

"Brooke came."

"Uh-"

"That's all you really wanted to know, isn't it? Brooke came and ate two pieces of pizza like a normal human being. But of course she is a normal human being, not that you could ever bring yourself to think of her that way."

"Lily!"

There was silence for a few moments.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but really. Why haven't you come home?"

"I'm just, getting everything settled. My career's just getting started, and I need to make inroads with my colleagues and…"

"Yes Sam, we all know you're a workaholic, but why haven't you come home for Christmas in four years. Ever since Brooke went back to rehab."

"It's not rehab. Don't call it that. It's not drugs."

"God Sam. Just come home. She's okay. You don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid!"

"Sam-"

"I'm sorry Lily. I've been put on a big article at work. I probably won't be able to make it back for her graduation either."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Why- why did _you_ invite me-"

"And not her? Sam-"

"She could have sent a card."

"You know, she hasn't mentioned your name once since she got out of the hospital."

There was frozen silence on the other end of the phone, and then a short click as Lily hung up.

***

Sam groaned as she clicked her cell phone closed. Davis walked past her desk and tapped the back of her head.

"No personal phone calls on company time. Now get back to those Obits!"

"Yes, sir," Sam grumbled and opened the notebook on her desk, looking at the facts she had noted down about the life of one Mrs. Phillip Lucio, remembered by her three children and ten grandchildren for her amazing meatloaf. Sam's mind wandered back three years to the two am phone call that had come while she was staying up late working on a paper and the desperate voice, and how she hadn't done anything.

Sam's head sunk onto her desk and she clenched her eyes shut. She wasn't going to cry.

***

Brooke ran down the steps in her gown, holding her diploma tightly and hugged her dad and Jane. Then she grinned and waved her diploma in triumph before hugging Lily, Josh, and Harrison in turn, giving them all a kiss on the cheek. She squeezed Mary Cherry's hand and tuned out of whatever she was saying. Then she spotted Carmen and leapt to hug her with a screech.

"Carmen! I haven't seen you in so long!"

Carmen grinned and hugged her back. "How could I miss this? My girl beating the odds."

Brooke nodded, sort of embarrassed, then glanced around once more. Lily looked disgusted.

"Sam obviously could," she muttered.

There was a slight tension in Brooke's shoulders. Jane put an arm around her.

"Come on, it's time for the party at home."

***

Sam banged her fists down on Davis' desk. "Come on! I've been on Obits for six months! Can't you please give me a different assignment? I just want a chance-"

Davis raised a bushy eyebrow. "Mmm, sorry. You're not out of probation yet for that disaster with Mrs. Lucio."

"Disaster? It was a simple mistake. I'm sorry I misread my handwriting."

"I don't think you've learned your lesson yet."

"God! So what if she was famous for her pineapple meatloaf and not her porcupine meatloaf? It was an honest mistake."

"Yes, and when the animal rights groups demonstrated at her funeral and all her children were spray-painted with 'porcupine killer,' that wasn't important or embarrassing in anyway for all concerned."

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, sir."

"That's more like it. Now get back out there."

"Yes, sir."

***

"So what are your plans now, Brooke? Are you going to get a job?"

Brooke laughed at Carmen's earnest interrogation. "Yes, as I think the whole trophy wife thing is a bit overrated. And actually, it's been easier than I thought to turn my fine arts degree into a career. I've had a few interviews already."

"Wow! Are you going into fashion photography?"

"No, I don't think so. Too much-"

"Oh, yeah."

"Photo-journalism, actually. I did it for the last two years in school. I don't have the camping creds to do nature photography, and no way am I going to become paparazzi, so I was thinking about working at a local newspaper or magazine."

"So you're staying locally?"

"I mostly applied around here, but Lily gave me some tips for the bay area, and I had an offer from a paper up there."

"The bay area-" Carmen stopped herself, and Brooke glanced at her, confused. "It's a beautiful place," she covered quickly.

"Yeah, but I'm going to try an support myself for a bit, so no mansion in the Berkeley hills."

"You think you're going to take the job?"

Brooke tipped her head to think. She was smiling. "It sounds like fun. It's a small paper local to a tightly knit Italian community in the middle of crazy San Francisco. They support the paper a lot, so it pays really well. There are a lot of cultural events- that's what I'll be starting as, the cultural events column photographer. Isn't that great!" She looked so happy. Carmen stared at her sadly. "Yes, it sounds amazing."

***

"Lily- do you know where Brooke is going to work!"

"I heard she was applying-"

"San Francisco. San Francisco, Lily!"

"What?"

"What if she runs into her?"

…

"Lily?"

"Look- her paper, they were looking for a photographer, I just cut out the ad and sent it down."

"Oh my god."

"It might not even be the same paper in San Francisco that she applied to."

"No Lily, it is. It has to be. For those two- everything that can go wrong will."

***

On Monday morning Sam woke up in her bed that nearly filled the whole of the second room of the two room sublet where she lived in San Francisco, shut off her alarm and stretched. She slipped out of bed and into her jeans that she had left on the floor the night before, then pulled on the nearest top that smelled decently clean. Sam grimaced as she looked around the closet like space. She really should have made another trip to the Laundromat that weekend, but it looked like another week of trying to not disgust passerby. Wednesday afternoon she'd do it, definitely.

She waved to Mrs. DiAngelo on her way out who greeted her with a wave of a wooden spoon.

"Will you be in for dinner?"

"If you're cooking, then definitely!"

She stopped in at the co-operative café on the corner and jogged out again with a tall coffee and cinnamon raisin loaf and a rainbow sticker stuck to her forehead when she wouldn't take a pamphlet about the discrimination against gays in the Teamsters from the dreadlocked girl in a rainbow bandanna camped out by the register. Sam made it down the next two blocks at a quick trot and then darted up a rickety staircase to the second floor offices of the Star Daily.

She dropped her coffee and loaf on her desk and was unpeeling the sticker when Andy, the reviewer for the Star came up to her.

"Hey, Davis said something about seeing you in his office when you got it. What did you get today? Ooh, Cinnamon-raisin? Don't mind if I take a bit, do you?"

"What? In his office?" She smacked Andy's hand as he tried to mooch a chunk of her bread.

"Yeah," Andy grinned. "If you ask me it looks like you're off obits."

"Oh my god!"

"Good luck!" He yelled at Sam as she bolted for Davis' office. She stopped suddenly at his words just in time to see him bite into a chunk of her bread. She scowled, but not unpleasantly, and stuck the rainbow sticker onto his forehead, before continuing on her previous path.

"Thanks!" he said happily. "You think this will help me score?"

***

"Oh, Sam, good, you're here." Davis glanced up from his computer.

"Yes, sir!"

"You look bright and shiny today. Looking forward to writing Dr. Jerome's Obit?"

"No, sir!"

He laughed. "Good, because it's going to Cassie."

Sam suddenly looked worried. "Are you sure she's ready?"

"That's what I like to see, responsibility for the paper. No, she'll be fine. We'll be riding her."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, you will."

"But you are getting a big new responsibility."

"Yes?"

"You're taking our new photographer out."

"Huh?" This did not seem to be an assignment.

"She'll be photographing the craft fair and you're in charge of the companion article."

Sam was speechless. A craft fair? Could it actually be possible to go down in importance from obituaries?

"Now this is a big responsibility. It's her fledgling article, and you need to make sure she doesn't get in trouble and learns to feel her way around."

"I… see."

"Don't worry. If all goes well you'll get the Tuesday-Thursday spot for cultural events. And your own photographer."

"Oh." Suddenly this didn't look so bad. Cultural events was a little tame, but if she did a good job here, maybe there was a chance to get onto the investigative staff.

"All right. She should be here by now." Davis went to his door and leaned out. "Send the newbie in!"

There were a few moments of bustle, and then a girl was pushed into the room. She was blonde and there was a camera hanging from her neck, and that was the last thing Sam noticed before she realized it was Brooke and nearly died.

***


	2. Chapter 2

"What is this? Some kind of sick joke?"

"Sam! Hush, everyone can hear you."

"No! I'm not going to hush! What on earth are you doing here? Are you stalking me? Do you want an apology-"

"I'm working here!"

"No, no you're not. This is a newspaper. This is journalism. This is _my place_, not yours."

"You are such a jerk, Sam." Brooke scowled. "I'm a photographer. I got a job in photography. I wasn't even thinking about you when this happened, but why should I have been? It's not like I've seen you for years. It's not like you ever came to see me when I was in the hospital. It's not like you ever were there to hear about how my life was falling apart and I just couldn't deal with school and _everything._ So how could you know that when I went back I changed my major to art."

"I didn't."

Brooke looked down. "This really is just a freakish coincidence. I didn't even know you had moved to San Francisco."

"Yeah," Sam said softly. "Close to home, but far enough away so I have an excuse to never look back."

"Why didn't you come back, Sam?"

Sam gave her a look and scowled. "Don't ask. It wasn't about you."

"I never thought it was about me, Sam."

Sam shook herself and started walking faster. "Come on. We're almost at the fair."

They were walking down a street that seemed rather busy for that time of day. Sam glanced at the people, a little bewildered, and unable to focus on anything but the fact that Brooke was walking behind her. Brooke, the girl she thought she had finally forced out of her system, out of her life, but she hadn't. Here she was, and Sam didn't think it was possible that the situation could get any worse.

***

Brooke groaned as she jogged to try and keep up with Sam. She would just let her go on ahead, but she didn't know her way around yet, and she wasn't going to blow this assignment, just because Sam was being irrational. She paused for a moment beside a cart with a man selling Jesus jewelry and watched Sam stalking away, her hair blowing in the wind. It felt so strange seeing her again. After the accident at the end of junior year they had disposed of their animosity and been friends. Brooke knew that it could have been much worse if Sam hadn't shouted at her in time for Brooke to see the car coming and jump up on the hood. She probably wouldn't have even sprained her ankle if she hadn't been wearing those terrible shoes.

Sam was leaving her behind and she jogged after her, glancing down at her sensible tennis shoes and corduroys. That was one thing she had learned from the accident. The other was that lounging on the couch watching TV with Sam was far more enjoyable than fighting with her.

She was jostled by someone pushing past her and realized that people were running down the street in the opposite direction. She caught up to Sam just as a group ran past shouting, "Police! Call the Police!"

Their eyes met and Brooke remembered that she was with a journalist. Sam took off in the direction the people were coming from and Brooke ran after her, fumbling with her camera to get it ready.

It was the bank. A group of people was gathered on the steps. Two of them were carrying machine guns. Sam ducked into the entrance of the building and snagged Brooke's shirt, as she was about to run past, dragging her in.

"Get some photos."

Brooke started rummaging in her bag. "God, Sam. We need to get out of here." She found her telephoto lens and screwed it in, then leaned out. She could see the men's faces through this. She snapped a few shots.

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

Sam frowned, leaning forwards. "I can't. Maybe we could get closer."

Then suddenly the group of men was running.

Brooke kept snapping pictures as they approached and then ran past. She pulled the camera from her face. "Wait! Was that-"

"Something about a bomb!"

The explosion rippled the air at the same moment Sam tackled her to the ground. She saw the doors of the building implode, and a huge cement gargoyle flying towards them, and lost consciousness.

***

Blackness, Pain, the sound of someone sobbing? Brooke tried to move, but the pain spasmed through her back and she groaned, sinking back down. The sobbing stopped.

"Brooke?"

Now Brooke knew she was hallucinating. "Sam?" she muttered, trying to open her eyes. She hadn't seen Sam in years. She hadn't seen Sam until… this morning. Her eyes finally opened and she sat up, cringing. The light was a dim grey, and every muscle in Brooke's body ached. She looked around. Sam was right next to her, staring at her, eyes and face red as they always were when she had been blubbering.

"Brooke…" Sam's voice quavered. Brooke narrowed her eyes.

"Are you going to be mean to me? Because I have the mother of all headaches right now."

"No! I- I thought you were dead." Sam sniffed. "I thought I had screwed up again and you were dead."

"Again?" Brooke tried to move her arm to press against her aching temple, but her shoulder suddenly flared with pain, and she gasped, shuddering. "Oh, shit!"

"Are you okay?"

"I think I fucked up my shoulder," Brooke breathed out, cupping her injured arm to her chest. "Oh no!" she suddenly remembered, "My camera!'

"It's here," said Sam, sounding weak. Brooke saw it on the floor by Sam's hand, picked it up and examined it. The lens had cracked, but as far as she could tell the camera itself was sound. Then she looked at Sam, not liking that faded voice.

"Are _you_ okay?"

"I'm glad I come after your camera in importance," Sam grumbled, and Brooke almost smiled. She hadn't heard that petulance in so long.

"Well, I was considering trying to work out where we are and what happens next, first, but you sound like crap. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam muttered.

Brooke looked her over. She was sitting oddly, her leg twisted under her, and both her hands pressed against the floor, her arms tense, as if she was holding herself up.

"Yeah? So you don't mind when I do this?" she prodded the twisted leg, and Sam made an airless gasping that was worse than if she had screamed. "Shit! Sam. You're a mess."

Tears were trickling down her face. "Just shut up, Brooke."

"Well, what are we going to do?" Brooke glanced around. Somehow they had ended up in the lobby of the building they had been hiding in the doorway of. Broken glass was under them, and Brooke examined her torn cords and the lacerations on her thighs and shins. A huge slab of concrete had covered the door, rubble filling in the cracks. The light came from far above, and as Brooke watched, it was fading. She must have been unconscious all day.

"Do you have your cell phone?"

"I left it home today," Sam muttered. "Where's yours?"

"Wherever my bag is." Brooke looked for it once more, but there was no sign of it. Sam also tried to turn, but gasped, as an odd scraping noise echoed through the room.

"Are you on glass, Sam?"

There was only a whimper in response. Brooke pursed her lips and then staggered to her feet, trying not to jostle her injured shoulder. She found a piece of curved metal and used it to clear a place of glass. Then she crouched down next to Sam and noticed the blood trickling from the side of her face that she had kept turned away. She had been hit. Tiny lines patterned her skin, all shooting in one direction. There was a piece of glass still embedded in her cheek, wedged against her jaw. It looked deep and it was still bleeding freely. Brooke didn't know if she should try and take it out or not. She thought she remembered something about glass working its way into wounds if they were left alone. It could have been a myth. She didn't know and couldn't remember where she had heard it.

"Can you taste blood in your mouth?"

Sam shook her head a tiny bit. Okay, not punctured.

"Do you know how deep it is? Can you feel the edge on the inside?"

"I can't feel anything, hurts." She wasn't really opening her mouth while talking. Finally Brooke felt well enough to be afraid.

"Open your mouth for me?"

Sam gave her a panicked look, way too much like a frightened animal. But she parted her lips and Brooke slid her fingers inside, and gently brushed her fingers over the inside of Sam's cheek. Sam made a choked sound that probably would have been a wail without Brooke's hand in her mouth. Brooke withdrew her wet fingers and searched for her lens polisher.

"Sammy, I'm going to get the glass out of your face, okay?"

Sam sniffled. "I don't want you to look after me." Then she flinched. Every time she spoke it must be digging in farther.

"Well, it's me or no one right now." Brooke touched Sam's cheek softly. "Ready?" Sam eyed her with suspicion. Brooke leaned in so their noses brushed. "It's okay."

She pressed her fingers up against Sam's cheek, not touching the glass, not risking pushing it in farther, and then in one move pinched the glass out, and pressed her lips to Sam's. Still kissing Sam she tossed the glass away and pressed the handkerchief to her face, staunching the blood. She felt Sam jerk as she registered the pain, and pulled away.

Sam was staring at her with a look between horror and mortification. "What? Why did you…?"

Brooke grinned sadly. "Didn't feel a thing, did you?" It served her right that the first time and likely last she kissed Sam was to distract her from a field operation.

Sam ducked her head, but didn't jerk away from Brooke's hand that was pressing the cloth to her face. She was scowling as much as she could. "I think you overestimate the anethesiac effects of your kisses."

Brooke laughed, and then cringed as it jostled her shoulder. "I thought it was my best bet. Do you think you can move a little to the non-glass area?"

Sam eyed it, and then her leg. "Maybe if you hold me up a little."

Brooke gave her her good arm and let her cling to it as she swung the few inches over to the clean area. She whimpered when she settled down again. Brooke did her best to adjust her so she wouldn't have to keep all her weight on her hands. Finally with only a wince, Sam was able to sit on her butt, one leg twisted awkwardly in front of her, and the other bent over it.

"You have any more glass in you?"

Sam brushed absently at her cargo pants. "I'm good."

"Great." Brooke sank down and rested her head against Sam's shoulder. It was strange. They were trapped in a crumbling building. It was getting dark. They were both injured and bleeding. And yet for a moment she felt like they were back at the Palace, on the couch. She wished they were.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Sam closed her eyes and let herself breathe in Brooke's scent. She was amazing. Sam hadn't been unconscious for nearly as long, but she had spent the whole time panicking. She had checked Brooke's breathing, but her limp form looked so much like how Sam had imagined her dead. After the 2 am phone call Sam had imagined her dead so many times. She had dreamed the entire scene from Brooke's point of view: desperate, calling for help, only to be cursed at and left to die by the person she trusted to save her from herself.

And now here she was, curled up against her shoulder. She had been angry when they first ran into each other, but Sam hadn't exactly been welcoming. And she hadn't been angry enough.

"Why don't you hate me?" Sam mumbled.

She felt Brooke stir against her side. "What?" Her voice was foggy.

"Don't sleep! You might have a concussion," Sam snapped, and then flinched as she felt the gaping hole in her face open up.

Brooke groaned. "Even if I don't, I have a killer headache, and you being nasty to me isn't helping."

Sam swallowed, and said in a quieter voice. "Sorry. I only have two tones right now."

"Snap and whimper?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, and leaned back against Brooke. "I am sorry for getting you into this."

"Comes with the job." Brooke smiled. "Even if it is my first day."

"How on earth did you become a news photographer?" That wasn't the question Sam really wanted answered, but this would do for now. If she was going to keep Brooke awake all night they had plenty of time. "Weren't you pre-law?"

Brooke sighed and pulled away from her. Sam missed her warmth. "You know about my nervous breakdown."

Sam grumbled acquiescence. Nervous breakdown, anorexia relapse, attempted suicide, whatever you wanted to call it.

"I wasn't dealing well with my classes." Brooke tried to shrug, but winced. "Stanford isn't high school. You know that. I bet Yale was the same. It's like filling a whole school with the top five percent of students, and unlike you, I'm not the top of the top."

Sam snorted. "Top of the top? Are you kidding me?"

"You didn't have these problems. You were doing fine. You couldn't shut up about the paper, about your journalism classes."

"It was hard for me too. And I didn't-" Sam shut her mouth. "The paper wasn't very competitive, just enthusiastic. They were a good support."

"Well, cheerleading wasn't like that. I didn't even make the team." Brooke smirked. "A blessing in disguise, maybe. But it all got to be too much. I was failing at everything, and I was having that feeling of losing control again."

"So you quit eating."

"If you know everything, I don't see why you're asking these questions!"

"Just because you haven't matured from being a stupid teenager? You act to type, dumb blonde."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you too."

They sat for a while. Sam was trying not to cry. She sniffed once audibly and Brooke sighed. Better to get everything out now than let it fester.

"You know all about my relapse. So when I started eating again I had to figure out what to quit instead. Being dumped hadn't helped me, so I quit dating. My friends dragging me to parties, making me drink, and keeping me from studying hadn't helped, so I quit socializing. Taking really hard classes about law and politics that bored me to death hadn't helped, so I tried to figure out what sort of classes I would enjoy being in. The only one I loved was my photography class, so I switched to being an art major."

"Did you work for the paper?"

Brooke nodded. "I needed a new activity and new friends. And I missed you."

Sam sniffed again and reached out just to touch her. Brooke leaned close to her and ran her thumb over her face, catching the tears.

"It's your turn to answer painful questions. Why did you shut me out of your life? Did you lose respect for me after what I did?"

"Shut you out?" Sam strangled a sob. "I shut myself out. I couldn't deal with what I had done."

"What you did? You saved my life."

"You called me, begging for help, and I cursed you out. I lost respect for myself."

"I shoveled all my self-responsibility onto you. I could feel myself fading. I passed out. If you hadn't called the police and told them where I was, I could have died there."

"But how long did it take me? You called me and I hung up on you and went back to work on my paper while you were dying. It took me an hour before I finally looked up the number for your campus police. If you had done anything besides try to starve yourself to death, it would have been too late." Sam buried her face into Brooke's neck, feeling Brooke's fingers trace through her hair, and so thankful for it. "We were supposed to be friends, finally, after years of being enemies, and I failed at being your friend." Sam closed her eyes. She had let her panic and her fear at loving Brooke too much turn into anger and nearly destroy the object of her affection.

"You're so pathetic, Sam."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"Hey," Brooke pressed her cheek against Sam's hair, "I'm pathetic too. Oh, no, my classes are too hard. Oh no, my boyfriend thinks I'm frigid or… or something. I'm going to starve myself because I can't change my life in the ways I needed it to change."

"You had a boyfriend," Sam mumbled. "I was always worrying that the reason you stopped talking to me so much was because you had a boyfriend."

***

Something was strange. She knew this room; she knew this scene. There was Simon, her boyfriend, sitting across from her in the Student Union. He had that frown on his face that always made her nervous. He was going to dump her. That was what happened in this scene. But some small things were different. Her shoulder felt stiff and painful, and the scent… dust, and something warm. It smelled like Sam. But that didn't make sense. Sam was in Connecticut. She hadn't spoken to Sam in a week. She didn't know what to tell her. She didn't want Sam to think her weak, but she wanted to confess everything to her.

"Are you going to eat that?"

Simon eyed her untouched burrito and she pushed it across the table to him.

"Look, you're a great girl," he started. Brooke wondered how he knew that. It wasn't as if she ever told him anything about herself. "But my buddies are kind of weirded out that we've been dating for three months and you won't sleep with me."

Brooke frowned. Did nothing change from high school? She had slept with two guys in high school and it had been a mistake both times. Shouldn't there be something that said, yes, this is the one you want? Not just her brain saying this is the one you _should _want.

"They say you're frigid."

Brooke had been called this before, and she had done some research. Some people were asexual. She had considered this for a while, but it didn't make sense. She really did desperately want the type of relationship where you were never too close, where you never had enough of each other. But she had always been a private person, and every boy she had known was boring after an hour or two. Until Nicole tried to kill her, she had been able to talk to her for hours, although Gwyneth had been at least 75% of the subject matter. And last year she had spent every evening IMing Sam until 1 am. She didn't really understand her friends who did that sort of thing with their boyfriends. She didn't like boy things, videogames or football, and she couldn't believe her friends who said that their boys were really interesting. Maybe she just had bad taste in men.

She eyed Simon. On paper they had a lot of interests in common. He was a politics major. He was blonde. He liked to make movies. He was into psychology and actually very sensitive. He probably never would have taken her burrito if she had ever told him about her eating disorder. And yet they never managed to have a real conversation.

"But, I think it's something else."

This was new. Brooke tried to sit up straighter, but her shoulder spasmed oddly.

"This is kind of awkward, but… have you ever thought you might be gay?"

Brooke stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Well, Trisha, Jake's girlfriend, she said that she thought you were hitting on her at the party on Friday."

"Are you joking? We were just talking."

"She said you invited her back to your room."

"To look at my photos! She said she was into photography!"

Simon frowned. "That's not important. But it's something I've been considering for a while. I thought you were using me as a beard, actually."

"What!"

"Who's that girl you're always online with? I thought she was your ex-girlfriend."

"My step-sister! Not my ex-girlfriend! How could you think that?"

"You have all those pictures of you two…"

"Sister!"

Simon shrugged. "She doesn't look like your sister. And truthfully, you don't really talk about her like she's your sister."

Brooke sighed and rested her head on the table. "Oh my god."

"I'm sorry if I'm wrong. But maybe it's worth thinking about."

"You're a shitty psychologist."

"Sorry, Brooke. But I think this is it for us."

"Yeah," Brooke groaned. "You think I'm … gay, and I think you're a jerk. Lets call it a day."

He had inhaled the burrito, and he left, tossing the plate away on his way out. Brooke just lay on the table, wishing he had just dumped her straight out. She could never tell Sam about this. Never. She wanted to stop thinking about it, but she couldn't help wondering if it was true.

Suddenly odd noises started coming from outside. Construction equipment? She didn't remember any construction…

Brooke started to wake up.

***

Sam knew it was a dream. She had had it more than a hundred times. The same dream every time. But this time she felt odd, like she shouldn't be dreaming. There was something she was supposed to be doing.

She was at her desk, scowling at a paper on Corporate Social Responsibility, and wondering why Brooke wasn't online. She hadn't spoken to her all week. It was making her tense. She kept on considering horror images of why Brooke hadn't contacted her. Unfortunately, her having a boyfriend kept popping up as one of the most horrifying, and she kept shoving it down. It was stupid. Of course Brooke had a boyfriend. She wasn't celibate. Just because they never talked about that sort of stuff didn't mean it wasn't going on.

She sighed, leaning against her elbow. "You're pathetic," she muttered to herself. "Just admit it. You're obsessed with her and she doesn't have a clue." Or maybe she did? What if that was the reason she wasn't calling? What if she figured it out and decided she needed to cut the connection?

It wasn't fair! Brooke was playing with her! Sam needed to talk to her. She needed to know she was okay. Even if Brooke hated her now, she needed to know she was doing all right.

She hadn't gotten anywhere with this paper. It was all Brooke's fault. Her screwed up life was all Brooke's fault. She should call. Just check in. Sam couldn't get anything done worrying about her.

Sam looked at the clock: 2 am. The paper was due at 8:30. Crap.

The phone rang. Sam frowned. It had to be Brooke. Sam was mad at her. Maybe she wouldn't answer. That lasted one more ring. She picked up the phone.

"Brooke?"

There was silence on the other end.

"Brooke? Is that you?"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

She sounded like she was crying. What was going on?

"I'm such a failure. I'm failing at everything and I couldn't even tell you."

"Brooke? Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I feel kind of weird."

"Have you eaten today?"

"I'm not hungry."

Sam heard the smile in Brooke's voice. "How long? How long have you gone without eating?"

"I'm not hungry. I feel sick. I don't want to eat when I feel sick."

"You idiot!"

"Sammy," Brooke whimpered.

"Do you have anything there? Have you been staying hydrated? Why are you doing this to me? I can't take care of you! I'm three thousand miles away. Fuck, Brooke! Can't I trust you to even keep yourself alive?"

"Maybe I don't want to be alive anymore."

"Brooke?"

"It's just so hard. It's too hard. I love you, Sammy."

"Brooke! Don't you dare do this to me! What do you expect? That I'm going to drop everything and run to your side? Grow up, princess! How many times am I going to have to chase after you? Maybe I just don't care anymore. Do you hear that? I don't care about your problems!"

The phone line went dead. Sam set it down slowly. What the fuck was that? It wasn't fair of Brooke to play with her feelings like that. Was she threatening suicide? How selfish could you get? She was three thousand miles away. Even if she came as fast as she could it would take six hours at the least. She wanted to run to her side. The paper sat in front of her. She had to look after herself first, didn't she? Didn't she?

She fumbled for the phone and dialed Brooke's number. It was busy. She called her cell, no answer. She stared at her paper for a few more minutes, not seeing the words. Then she opened the Internet, , public safety. She dialed again.

"Um, hi. I think, I mean, my friend, she called, and she sounded bad. I think she might be in trouble."

"Yeah? She been drinking?" His voice was sarcastic.

"I don't know. I'm at Yale."

"Yale? Is this a prank call?"

"No! My friend! I want you to check on her. Don't you have a suicide reduction policy? If you don't do anything I'm calling 911."

"Fine, I'll send someone over. Got the room number?"

"Yeah." Sam read the address.

"Brooke McQueen?"

"That's her."

"Can you call me after you check on her? Or tell her to call…"

"Sure, what's your number?"

The room faded out as Sam was giving the number and she found herself outside of Brooke's door. The officer was next to her, unlocking the door. "It was too late. We figured you'd want to see."

Sam pushed the door open. Brooke was lying in the middle of the room, body limp and thin. "Oh god, oh god…"

***


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh god, oh god, oh god."

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" Brooke shook the sleeping girl as best she could with one arm. Sam started to blink.

"Brooke?"

"How many times are we going to do this?" She put her arm around Sam, pulling her close, and hesitated for a moment, before kissing her cheek, the uninjured side. "It's me. I don't think I have a concussion. Because that sound, it's not my headache."

Sam sat up, cringed, and looked around. The building was shaking slightly and she could hear scraping of metal against concrete. "Is it coming down?"

"I hope not." Brooke glanced up, worried. "It would suck to get killed just as we were being rescued."

Then the huge slab of concrete rolled away with a crash.

"Hey!" Brooke shouted, "Can we get some help in here!"

A fireman peeked through the door. "Get the EMTs," he shouted, and suddenly all was business.

***

Once her shoulder was jerked back into place, Brooke had yelled until a plastic surgeon was called to stitch up Sam's face. She had waved away the proffered scrubs, but taken the sling until her shoulder got its strength back, and then waited for them to finish operating on Sam's knee.

The police came to talk to her. The lead cop, an arrogant dark haired woman with dramatic cheekbones was pissing her off so Brooke thrust the camera at her.

"I have close ups of all their faces, but I want copies. I'm the photographer for the Star Daily."

The woman cringed. "Not more reporters," she grumbled.

"And I'd like it if you tell me what's going on. My friend in there," she gestured toward the operating room, "is planning an article on it."

A small redhead peeked in. "I can fill you in if you let me use one of your photos."

Brooke shrugged, and winced. "Sure."

Brooke spent the rest of the wait for Sam to wake up from the anesthetic chatting with investigative reporter Cindy Thomas. Apparently the group had been Christian White Supremacists. They couldn't decide whether to bomb a Latino neighborhood or the Castro, so they picked somewhere in the middle. Luckily the splash zone hadn't affected the crafts fair and there were only a few injuries. The men had melted into the streets and there were no leads until they got her camera.

Cindy followed her into the room when Sam woke up. A look of delighted relief crossed her face when she saw Brooke, but Brooke was flinching at the sight of the gauze covering up the cut on her face. The EMT had said that it was possible for it to work its way through her face and she had done the right thing, although she was lucky it hadn't severed anything major.

She touched Sam's forehead. "Hey."

"Hey, you." Sam smiled even though it looked like it hurt. She glanced over the Cindy, questioningly.

Brooke grinned. "This is Cindy Thomas, investigative reporter for-"

"The Register, I know." Sam scowled. "Did we get scooped?"

Cindy waved her hands in defense. "You're the eyewitness. I'd love an interview."

Sam groaned. Brooke squeezed her hand. "I think we should put that off. Sam needs to sleep."

Cindy slipped out. "I'll give you some privacy."

"I can't believe you were talking to a reporter from a rival paper. Seriously, Brooke."

Brooke chuckled. "I wanted to find out what had happened, and she was more forthcoming than the cop who took my camera."

"She took your camera!" Sam yelped, tried to sit up, but overbalanced because of the cast, then collapsed in pain.

"She said she'd give me copies. And I promised one to Cindy. I think she'll make sure I get them."

"Oh great. Not only were we scooped, you're already freelancing?"

"Sam," Brooke gave her a strict look. "Go to sleep. Or I'll call mom to come up and fuss over you."

"Fine."

"I called our boss. We've got a week off."

"I'm fine! I'll be up tomorrow!"

Brooke just shook her head, smiling as she left the room. "Sleep!"

Cindy was leaning against the wall, waiting for her. "Your girlfriend?"

Brooke blinked at her. Somehow she thought she ought to be shocked or offended, but she wasn't. "No," she said, and bit her lip. "Not yet."

A grin spread across Cindy's face, and one on Brooke's face answered it. "Good luck, then."

***

"You know, I don't have a place yet," Brooke said, sitting on the windowsill in Sam's hospital room. "I've been living at a motel, although they've probably dumped my suitcase since I haven't been back."

Sam looked at her, her brow furrowed. "You're suggesting something. Just be straight about it."

"With that leg you'll probably need someone to look after you…"

"You want to move in." Sam rolled her eyes. "Just invite yourself, princess."

"Or I could tell mom you need care?"

"Fine! Please. Move into my tiny two-room apartment. I can sleep on the floor."

Brooke just shook her head.

***

"Hey, mom."

"Brookie! Are you okay? I heard about the bombing, and I was so worried when you didn't call."

"Well, that's because Sam and I-"

"Wait, Sam? You and Sam?"

"It turns out we work for the same newspaper."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "Is she… okay?"

"She'll be fine. But Sam and I were caught in the bombing."

"Oh my god."

"We're fine now. We were trapped in a building for a night. I dislocated my shoulder and Sam's knee got all wrenched out of shape, but really…"

"Mike! Get the car ready! We're going to San Francisco!"

"Mom! Please! We really are okay."

"Brooke, you don't know what you're asking. Both of my babies were nearly killed. I have to see you're all right."

"Fine, but get a hotel. You can't stay with us."

"Us?"

"They're releasing Sam from the hospital this afternoon. I'm going to look after her until she's better."

"So you've… made up?"

"That's one thing a night trapped in a building is good for."

"I'm so glad." Jane was silent for a moment. "After… after _it _happened. Both of you seemed… maybe not unhappy, but lonely in a way you never were before."

"I can't speak for Sam, but," Brooke swallowed, trying not to remember that time when she had felt abandoned and lost. "I know I was."

***

"Hi, Mrs. DiAngelo."

"Oh! Samantha! I was so worried when you didn't come home last night."

Brooke looked at the small Italian woman as she leaned on the back of Sam's wheelchair. Luckily Sam's arms were fine, because helping her up hills had been hard enough, and Brooke arm was in a sling to take some pressure off her shoulder.

"I'm okay."

Mrs. DiAngelo frowned at Sam's obviously injured leg. "I can see."

"Oh, this is Brooke. Is it all right if she stays to look after me for a while?"

The small woman gave Brooke an appraising look, noting the sling, and the way her good hand on Sam's shoulder. "Of course! And don't worry about food at all! I will bring it to you."

"Thanks."

The stairs were an adventure, but the rooms above were nice, if very Sammily decorated: books and papers everywhere in the front room and dirty clothes in the back. Brooke took a long shower and borrowed some semi-clean clothes before calling the motel to ask if they could bring her bag over.

Sam hung in the living room, trying to look for something entertaining to read, now that she was on enforced vacation. A knock came on the door and she let in Mrs. DiAngelo with a platter of lasagna.

"You look thin. You must be hungry. I will bring dinner soon, but have this until then."

Sam laughed.

"Your friend is thin too."

Sam nodded, considering it. It would be nice to have Brooke around all the time, so she could watch whether she ate.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Sam dropped the book she had been looking at on her leg and winced. "Ah- no… step-sister."

"I see." Mrs. DiAngelo frowned. "Make sure she eats."

Sam grinned. "I'm on it."

***

Jane and Mike arrived at ten that night. Sam was already asleep, because of the painkillers, but Brooke let them in and offered them their choice of left over lasagna or pasta.

"Oh, Brookie!" Jane embraced her, and Brooke groaned at the pressure on her shoulder. Jane jumped back and apologized. Mike just patted her shoulder.

"Rotten first day, eh?"

Brooke smiled. "It had its moments. And my photos were already dropped off at the office. My boss called and said I'm getting a front page photo credit."

Mike laughed. "Good job."

"Can we see Sam?" Jane asked worriedly.

"She should be sleeping. But you can peek in."

Sam looked angelic, even with the gauze and the lump of pillow under her casted leg.

"Where are you going to sleep?" asked Mike, frowning at the tiny apartment.

"I can crash on the couch. It's more comfortable than my motel bed."

Jane frowned. "Don't you dare, with that shoulder. Sam has a big bed and she knows how to share."

"Um…" Brooke tried not to laugh at that remark.

Jane realized the irony and laughed too. "Well, she should learn. Or you should come with us. You can bunk with Mac."

"I'm fine."

"It's either or."

"I can sleep with Sam. I want to be here if she wakes up and needs something."

"Good."

Jane patted her good shoulder and then led Mike to the door. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Brooke went into Sam's room to grab a pillow.

"Where are you going?" Sam muttered.

"You're awake? I'm going to crash on the couch."

"You promised mom you'd stay here."

"But I don't want to disturb you."

"Please? If I have another nightmare I want you close."

The drugs must have been making her less inhibited. Brooke gave in and slid in next to Sam. This was nice. Sam reached out and caught her hand, tangling their fingers together. That was even nicer. She was asleep in minutes, and didn't have any nightmares.

***


	5. Chapter 5

"You should come back down with us. You could have your old rooms and see all your friends since you have the week off."

Jane looked hopeful and eager. Brooke and Sam exchanged a look that communicated their thoughts as easily as always.

"Mom, I just moved up here. Once Sam's more mobile, I was hoping she could show me the city."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. "And we have some catching up to do, anyway."

Jane gave her a look. "Yes, you do."

Sam looked guilty, and Brooke sighed. She had never blamed Sam for cutting her off. She felt that she had deserved it, but she had no shortage of defenders.

"Do you have any crayons?"

The table's attention turned to Mac, relieving Brooke. Jane looked at Mike.

"Did we put any in the car?"

"I have some," said Sam. She wheeled over to a box by the window, and pulled out a new hundred pack of crayons and a drawing pad.

"Cool!" Mac took them and settled on the floor, staring at Sam's wheels and doing her best to draw them.

Jane looked back and forth from the box to Sam. "Oh, Sam."

"Oh my god!" Brooke stood up, knocking her chair over behind her. "You guys never even visited her? She's your daughter! Just because we were having issues- personal issues, that were none of your business, it didn't mean you needed to take sides."

Brooke stormed off into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Sam eyed Jane and Mike worriedly. "I should go talk to her."

Mike sighed. "Let me. We'll stay with Mac. You two should go have some mother-daughter time."

Sam looked over to Jane. "We could go down to the park?"

Jane walked worriedly in front of Sam as she crutched her way down the stairs and then helped her back into the wheelchair. One figure stepped and the other rolled out into the morning sunshine.

"I am sorry, Sam. We should have come to see you."

"You would have known if I wanted you to come. I guess Brooke didn't know that I shut you out almost as much as I shut her out."

"We thought you just wanted to be independent."

"I did. But I didn't really. That was the reason I moved back here instead of staying on the east coast."

"I'm sorry we didn't come up sooner."

"I could have gone down to see you." Sam sighed.

They reached the duck pond and stopped. Jane sat on a bench.

"Sam…"

Sam tensed at the tone in her mother's voice. It was suspiciously sympathetic and scolding.

"Why did you never visit Brooke in the hospital? She kept waiting for you to come."

Sam swallowed stiffly. "I think Brooke mentioned that that's our business. It's between us."

Jane looked worried. "_Is_ there something between you?"

"What?"

Now Jane looked uncomfortable. "I didn't want to think it, because you're sisters, but… were you in a relationship?"

Sam's eyes widened. She gaped like a fish.

"I didn't think of it at all when Brooke was in the hospital, even with the way she'd ask for you, but then you seemed to drop off the face of the earth, just saying you wouldn't be home for the summer, or for any of your breaks, and I kept hearing her crying when I passed your door." She sighed. "It just seemed like a nasty break-up."

Sam sank into her chair and covered her face. "No," she said, honestly and less than truthfully, "We weren't ever in a relationship like that. But it was sort of a break-up, but only of a friendship. What she did really hurt me. I didn't want to feel that bad ever again, so I cut everyone I cared about out of my life."

"Oh, Sam."

"Stop that!" Sam scowled. "You don't get it, do you? You think that I just didn't care enough about her, that she was sick and depressed and she should be easy to forgive. But I haven't forgiven her yet. I'm glad she's here with me, but she isn't forgiven. When dad died I knew he didn't have a choice. I could blame it on God, or on chance, or on my own shitty karma, but Brooke did have a choice, and she nearly killed herself. Sure she didn't slit her wrists or stick her head in the oven, but she knew the consequences of her actions and she _didn't eat_. She nearly took herself away from me, from us, and that was so incredibly selfish of her, that I can't just say, oh, never mind. You can try again later."

"Sam…" Jane looked hurt, but seemed to understand her at least a little, so Sam kept going.

"I tried to be there for her. I tried to take care of her, even from three thousand miles away, and I failed. So I couldn't see her in the hospital with my failure in front of my face. I couldn't… I couldn't love her again and wait for that to not be enough."

Sam was afraid she had said too much. Her mom was looking at her with an unnervingly knowledgeable curiosity.

"And now?"

Sam closed her eyes. "I guess I'm going to wait and see. She seems different, not the girl who made my life hell in high school. I mean, she hasn't even complained about wearing my clothes. And yesterday, she was wearing those brown cords, and the most nerdy photographer shirt, and, I mean, she looked amazing, but there's no way she would have even thought that was acceptable before, unless Gwyneth's gone through a change I didn't hear about. I hope that means she's stable."

"She seems more centered than she used to be to me too." Jane gave her an odd half-smile. "I hope you'll be able to take the risk."

***

"Hey, Brookie."

Brooke was lying face down on the bed, her shoulders shaking just enough to make it clear that she was crying.

"Baby." Mike sat on the edge of the bed next to her. "I don't want you to think we didn't try to connect with Sam. But she wasn't turning to us. We should have tried harder, but there's only so many, 'no, I can't come home for Christmases' you can hear before taking the hint."

Brooke sobbed a little, trying to get in control of herself. "I know. I know it's not your fault. I'm just so angry that my stupid mistake hurt so many people for so long."

"What? Brookie…"

Brooke sat up. "Don't tell me Jane wasn't hurt by me driving her real daughter away. Don't tell me you weren't hurt by it too. You worked so hard trying to fix me and none of it worked."

"The first time it happened that doctors told me that it would be a lifetime battle." Mike looked drawn and sad. "It hurt me the most that you were going through such a tough time and you never confided in me."

"What was I supposed to say?" Brooke spat. "You know how I have that issue with being perfect? Well, I'm failing my classes, I'm being ostracized by my friends because I don't drink, and my boyfriend thinks I'm gay."

Mike's eyes widened. "What? But you're not-"

Brooke smacked her forehead. "Exactly! I knew exactly how you'd respond to that. Oh, Brookie, you're so smart. Do you think you're working hard enough? Maybe you shouldn't party so much. Then: Oh, Brookie, everybody loves you. I'm sure you can find some new friends. And just put your foot down about the drinking and partying in your room. I'm sure they'll understand if you're firm."

"Well maybe…"

"No, not yet." Brooke cut him off. "For the third, I know the exact expression you would get, that sort of tense uncomfortable one- yes! That one! And you would say, you shouldn't worry about that. Of course you're not gay, right? Indicating that if I'm not, I'm an idiot for worrying about it, and if I'm just thinking I might be, that you would be so incredibly freaked out you would be no use for comforting me at all. I couldn't deal with that."

"Why not? Because you might be gay? Honey, is that why…"

"No it is _not_ why I tried to kill myself! God, thinking I might be gay was the least of my problems. It was an answer. It was suddenly the clouds have parted and sunshine breaks through! I finally realized: Oh! That's why boys bore me stiff! That's why I always feel unhappy and pressured when I'm in a relationship with a boy, even a nerdy one like Harrison. That was what made me finally call Sam for help."

Mike looked confused. "What? You called Sam? When?"

Brooke ducked her head. "I hated my life. I hated the way it was slipping out of my control, the way nothing was working out the way I wanted it to. I didn't want anything I thought I wanted, and I didn't believe that the things I really wanted were possible. I was feeling dizzy, and I had this really weird hallucination that I was back at home and me and Sam were on the couch watching TV, and she turned to me and said, 'I really like being with you. It sucks we wasted so much time being enemies.' I was screwing it up, I knew it then, we should have more time than this, and I called her. I passed out from the dehydration while I was on the phone with her, and she called the campus police. They thought I had just been binge drinking and needed my stomach pumped. Luckily the doctor realized that it was the opposite. Sam saved my life."

"My god." Mike looked tortured. Brooke felt guilty for putting him through it.

"But that wasn't the point. The point was that figuring out I was gay made me realize that I could have some of the things I wanted."

"Like… Sam?" Mike asked, the worry obvious in his voice.

"Oh, shit!" Brooke paled and scooted back on the bed. "I didn't- I mean, I…"

"Brookie," he tentatively patted her shoulder. "I'm okay with this. I mean, I'm glad that you're…" He paused.

Brooke started chuckling involuntarily. "That I'm gay? Were you really about to say that you're glad that I'm gay?"

Mike blushed. Brooke reached out with her good arm and hugged him.

"Thank you. I'm glad you're glad that I'm gay. And really, don't worry about the Sam thing. There is totally nothing going on there. I am not having a torrid affair with my stepsister. She…" Brooke bit her lip. "She doesn't even know that I, um, prefer girls."

Mike frowned. "Exactly how many girls have you preferred?"

Brooke laughed, holding onto her knees as if she was afraid she'd fall over backwards with the force of it. "Totally not going there, dad. Please, just not."

***

Jane and Sam came back with lunch and Brooke's bag. Mike and Brooke were on the floor playing with Mac. Sam dropped the bag on Brooke's head.

"You're right. The manager is a jerk. He made me pay him $20 or he wouldn't give me the bag. And I'm really pitiable like this!" She gestured to her chair.

Brooke laughed, but made no rush to change out of Sam's pre-worn clothes.

"Is this all you have?"

Sam actually looked worried. Brooke felt a little lost in her gaze. "I like to travel light. And I only own one pair of shoes at a time."

Sam's jaw dropped.

"I'm still hoping the firemen will find my camera bag though. Replacing all that crap will set me back a couple paychecks."

Mac took the opportunity to crawl over and start drawing on Sam's cast with her crayons.

"Oh, Brooke," said Jane. "I took the opportunity, while Sam was in the motel, to call a few of your friends and tell them that you had the week off, so they might come visit."

Brooke's eyes widened. She looked at Sam, who seemed just as shocked. "A few?"

"Oh, Carmen, Lily and Josh Ford, Harrison, Mary Cherry, you know…. The gang?"

***

Jane, Mike, and Mac didn't leave until it was nearly dinnertime. Exhausted from the visit, Sam and Brooke ate Mrs. DiAngelo's meatballs on the sofa, an old movie playing on the TV.

Brooke sighed as she watched Sam chew with her mouth open, distracted by Carey Grant discussing methods of murder on the screen.

"I missed this."

Sam looked up, swallowing quickly. "What?"

"I missed just hanging out with you."

"Yeah, because grumpy, highly medicated Sam is such great company."

Brooke set her plate on the floor and leaned over, resting her head on Sam's shoulder. "You're always great company."

Sam swallowed hard. "I had a really interesting conversation with my mom today."

"Yeah? I could say the same about my dad, but I won't, because I really don't want you to ask what it was about."

Sam rolled her eyes "As if that wasn't an even worse temptation."

Brooke smiled.

Sam furrowed her brow. "Did it have anything to do with why you dad pulled me aside to tell me that if I needed to buy you a bed or a futon he would pay for it?"

Brooke hid her face and groaned. "Yes, actually."

"Then I won't ask. But my mom and I were talking… well, about you."

Brooke lifted her head so that only her chin was resting on Sam's shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "What about me, pray?"

"About whether or not it was a good idea to let you back in my life."

Brooke sat up awkwardly. "Well, that's a switch, after I was yelling at her for picking me over you."

"Yeah," Sam scratched at the gauze on her cheek. Brooke batted her hand away.

"Stop that. I want it to heal properly."

Sam gave her a look. "_You _want it to heal properly?"

"I wouldn't want the world to be deprived of your pretty face."

Sam snorted.

Brooke reached out and tucked a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear. "You really are beautiful, Sam."

"And what about you?"

"What?"

Sam caught her eyes and fixed them with a glare. "What do you think of yourself? What do you think of being alive? Willing to give it a chance, or are you ready to cut your losses whenever it gets too difficult."

"Funny," Brooke turned away, crossing her arms. "That's what I talked about with my dad."

"Well? Yes or no? I need to know, Brooke. I can't just wait around hoping that you aren't going to try to kill yourself again."

Brooke sighed. "I'm not."

"And how am I supposed to believe that?"

"I already told you how I changed my life."

"Yeah, if I remember correctly from my pain-addled mind, you quit dating, you quit socializing, you changed your major, and you picked up that eating habit again. Is that sustainable? I mean, for the long term?"

"I guess I didn't explain it well enough." Brooke glared at her. "What I really changed was my goals and my self-image."

"So, now you see yourself as skinny, and you want to be a photographer, is that it?"

"It's not that simple. But of course, you've never tried it. You've never said, oh, I guess I'm crap at journalism (no matter how many times I told you that) and I think I need a new life course. You never said, oh, I hate my friends. I'm going to have to ditch them before they turn me into road kill. I did that _twice_."

"You have bad taste in friends."

"Yeah, which explains why I put up with you." Sam stuck out her tongue, and Brooke rolled her eyes, but broke into a smile. "I knew I had a reason for hanging out with you."

Sam looked blank. "What?"

"Your lingual dexterity." Brooke snorted at her own joke and tucked her knees up to her chest.

Sam grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. "You have no idea how… _dexterous_ I am."

Brooke felt herself blush, but hid it behind her knees. "This is how you saved my life."

"What?" Sam looked confused at the sudden return of the previous topic.

"I remembered how important hanging out with you like this is to me. That's why I called you. And that's why I don't think you have to worry about me anymore. I know what's really important, and… well…" Sam froze. Brooke's hands were on her shoulder, her face barely above them. "It's you."

For an agonizing moment Sam knew Brooke was going to kiss her again. She wanted it and feared it with equal intensity. And when Brooke's lips brushed against her cheek, she thought that her heart was being torn to bits.

***


End file.
